


What Is Left

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Post-Sirius in Azkaban, Unrequited Love, Work In Progress, mating for life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2004-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5933368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events chronicled in Prisoner of Azkaban Remus, knowing Dumbledore will eventually send Sirius to him, ponders the past and wonders what is left of their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Is Left

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

I became a werewolf as a very small child, and though my parents looked everywhere and tried everything, near impoverishing themselves, they found no cure. The Wolfsbane potion I consumed once a month as a teacher at Hogwarts is a very recent discovery. It allowed me to keep my mind, and made me safe around the students and staff, but it was no cure.

The transformation is painful. It was then, and, no matter what I pretend, it is now. When I am able to obtain the potion, I do not savage myself, but even with that mitigating effect, I am quite ill.

My body responds to the waxing and waning of the moon. As you can imagine, the Equinox's and Solstices, for differing reasons, are the worst, but no month is without its pain. Though I am only a wolf one night, for the week before my transformation my body is frantically preparing for the change. I am drained of energy; sleepless, emotionally distraught, literally starving. I require the entire week after the full moon to recover.

For those who know the signs, my condition is obvious. Most people, however, even Hogwart's trained wizards and witches, are quite adept at ignoring the obvious, and I was far from obvious, even as at student at school.

I have always been small and slightly built. Most of my energy , as a child, appears to have gone into supporting my transformations and not my growth. This fact actually helped me to conceal my condition, as it gave a false impression of chronic illness. Even in the wizarding world, where it seems nearly anything can be cured, there are sickly children, or children who fail to thrive. Magic does not hold all the answers. No one thought to question my 'illness', or my disappearances.

No one except Sirius Black.

Uncontrolled curiosity was one of the few traits, such as a quick temper and a desire for revenge, Sirius did not share with James. He invariably made James aware of his investigations, though, and always shared their results.

I was one of his investigations.

Most people today believe the four of us, Sirius, James, Peter, and I, were inseparable from the first night at Hogwarts.

We weren't.

We called ourselves the Marauders, and there were four of us, pledged to each other and to mischief, but it was always James for Sirius and Sirius for James, from the moment they met, kindred souls, upon the London platform of the Hogwarts Express. It was James and Sirius whose beds were side by side, who sat together at meals, who were lab partners in class, who practiced Quidditch together. It was James and Sirius who led our classes and played the most outrageous jokes.

Not only could they finish each other's sentences, they could finish each other's thoughts. One was never without the other. They were inseparable.

And I? I was alone, for Peter and I did not have that kind of relationship. In truth, we did not desire it. We were both satisfied, or I thought we were both satisfied, to be the planets who revolved around our own particular binary star of Sirius and James.

I only got to know Sirius and James beyond a superficial level when they confronted me with their suspicions.

I was terrified.

We weren't close, but what I had with them was more than I had **ever** had.

My parents were never cruel to me, but they were never loving, either. They were willing to spend their last penny on finding me a cure, but they were afraid of me. There were no hugs, no loving touches. I was not rocked to sleep, nor was I tucked into bed with a good night story and a kiss.

There were no long walks in the country, no picnics at the beach. No one made me chocolate chip cookies. No one treasured my first tooth.

There were no puppies or kittens, no stuffed toys, no cards or birthday presents.

I was not 'Remus' to them, nor was I their 'son'. I was a responsibility to them, and one by whom they were determined to do right. We had no connection to each other, though we lived in the same house. They were relieved to see me off to boarding school.

School came as a shock to me as I'd always been home schooled. The local elementary would not allow me to attend because of my condition, but truthfully, I was so often ill, I would not have done well there, anyway.

It never occurred to me I could attend Hogwarts. No other werewolf ever had. Werewolves simply aren't trained to be wizards. An adult wizard is later bitten is one thing, training a werewolf child right from the beginning is another. It's just not done.

Werewolves are a rarity, anyway, but wizard werewolves even more so. There truly aren't that many of us. Trained wizards, even school-age wizards, are able to defend themselves to some degree. We tend to prey upon the Muggle population, as Muggles are less able to defend themselves. Muggles are, by and large, unaware of our actual existence. To them we are a story with which to amuse and scare themselves.

Then there is the fact the ministry actively tracks werewolves.

The main reason for our small numbers is quite mundane. Popular myth speaks of the 'werewolf bite', and the listener concludes the werewolf bites only once, as if its intention is to create another werewolf, a sort of 'bite and run' scenario. Let me tell you, werewolves are not interested in increasing their population, far from it.

Werewolves lose their minds when they transform - there is no rational thought in a werewolf's brain, there is no thought at all, only hunger. All a werewolf wants or desires is blood, human blood, and he isn't dainty about it. The victim is generally torn to pieces in a feeding frenzy. To become a werewolf, one must survive the attack, and that rarely happens.

Animals, incidentally, interest us not all. We are no danger to animals. If humans are not available, we will turn upon ourselves, biting and savaging our wolfen bodies. In our mindlessness we care not at all that the injuries we inflict upon ourselves will, in the light of morning, be visited upon our human selves.

There is, you see, a reason the ministry assigns us XXXX status, 16 out of 16 as a danger quotient. It is well deserved, for there is no such thing as a 'tame' werewolf.

The weight of law and official policy is heavy upon werewolves. We cannot move freely about, and must have permission to travel. Most often we must walk, less often we may use the train. Apparition, use of the Floo Network (even at Hogwarts as a teacher I was restricted to use of the school's fireplaces), and travel by broom is strictly forbidden to us, except in emergences - all of which are determined by law. Even then, we are required to be accompanied by credentialed Ministry officials if at all possible. Why? They're afraid they'll lose track of us.

We are not allowed to work within the Muggle population. Before we are allowed to apply for work in the wizard community we must make a full disclosure of our condition to our prospective employer.

There is no work in the wizard world for werewolves.

I survived after graduation by renting my parents home. The income wasn't much, and there were many times when I had to sink a good deal of it into repairs or taxes, but it kept me going. Barely. It did, however satisfy the Ministry and kept me off their dole.

The Ministry has a 'one strike (bite) and you're out' policy concerning werewolves, which means euthanasia upon sight or capture. Anything less than a bite, and the werewolf in question finds himself the subject of careful scrutiny. Suitable arrangements for confinement during the full moon must be in place at all times. Inspections of these arrangements are random, regular but, above all, rigorous. If the werewolf in question is unable to supply his own arrangements, he is assigned to the ministry's local public shelter.

To my shame, there have been times I have been forced to partake of the ministry's 'shelter'.

Shelter. A concrete reinforced dog kennel.

If we give the Ministry cause for doubt, we can be 'tagged'.

Tagging is a painful, humiliating and potential lethal practice. A 'tagged' werewolf wears three separate pieces of arcane misery; a collar, a bracelet, and an anklet. They act primarily as a location device for the ministry. They want to know where we are at all times.

The devices are made of metal and leather, and are impossible to remove with the proper password. The wearer's identification information is engraved upon them, and buried within them is a lethal dose of Wolfsbane which can be magically injected into the wearer.

The Ministry tagged me for five years following the murder of James and Lilly.

They came very close to tagging me again when Sirius escaped from Azkaban. Only Albus Dumbledore's intervention kept me from it.

After Sirius escaped on Buckbeak from Fudge and the Dementors, I was tagged again. I was actually thankful the Ministry officials stopped my carriage right outside the gates of the school, in full view of Snape an his Slytherin's who had gathered to watch the disgraced teacher leave. It would have been far more humiliating if they had come into the school after me and tagged me in front of my former students and colleagues. I seem to still have more pride than is good for me.

The Ministry took me into custody and questioned me thoroughly. I had nothing to hide, and every reason to tell the truth. I desperately wanted them to believe me. Peter was out there - a threat to Harry and a major boon to the Dark Lord's focus. He needed to be stopped.

Sirius, whose powerful skills and even more powerful intellect is so badly needed by our side, is also out there. Innocent, but hunted, he is in danger from every wizard with whom he comes in contact. The Dementors have been given permission to administer the kiss on sight.

I want him safe.

I need him to be safe.

I have loved Sirius Black since I was thirteen years old. I have been in love with him since I turned twenty.

I learned the name of the emotion I felt for Sirius the night of James and Lily's wedding.

That was the night Sirius finally turned to me.

That was the night I failed to recognize 'need', and called it 'love'.

That was the night I bound myself forever to a man who did not love me.

That was the night Sirius forgot.


	2. Chapter Two

Lilly Evans was an extraordinary woman. If she had not been, James would not have fallen in love with her. He already had a complete companion in Sirius, and sex was never a necessity for James. It was her mind which caught his attention, her spirit which drew him in , and her strength which held him. Her body, though he eventually ached for her, was only an extra gift.

We loved her, too. Anyone else, Sirius would have resented and hated, anyone else would have tried to replace Sirius in James' life. Lilly never tried, she created her own place in our hearts. It seemed a natural progression when James began to spend time with Lily, rather than us; a growing up, a maturation.

I know now that Peter resented James' relationship with Lily, that it was the catalyst which began his long betrayal. I also know now that Sirius was feeling lost. For years his every waking moment had been spent with James in one way or another, now that was gone, and he could not even resent the fact.

And me?

I was happy, happier than I had ever been. Happy for my friends, and happy for myself. Perhaps I should have examined my happiness more closely, but it would be hindsight to say so.

I had the promise of an apprenticeship at Hogwarts with the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. I'd shown a decided aptitude for the work, had achieved a record high score on my Defense O.W.L., surpassing even Alastor Moody's previous mark. I was ecstatic!

Sirius was beginning to pay more attention to me, spending time with me he had previously reserved for James. It never occurred to me that I was his second choice. He could have spent the time with numerous other people, including Peter, but he chose me. I was beyond ecstatic.

I'd never spent much time with girls other than as friends. The was never any point. Marriage and children were closed to me - there is no legal marriage between a wizard or witch and a Dark Creaturesince, for purposes of law, we **are** creatures, animals. In fact, spouses of newly bitten werewolves are required to leave them, and given a non-contested divorce. Children are awarded to the non-affected parent, and their names, if it is the father who is bitten, revert to the mother's maiden name.

Why they have not simply adopted a policy of sterilization, I do not know. I should think it would be easier all around, since it is the (never proven true) fear of the Ministry that the children of a werewolf could also become werewolves.

Therefore, I had no basis for comparison when I began to feel a thrill of expectation when I saw Sirius. I didn't understand why my heart would race, or my skin burn, or my belly tingle when he touched me. I disregarded my arousals as simply a part of normal maturity.

Until the evening after the Potter's wedding reception. ~~~~~~

Sirius stood with James as his best man. Honestly happy for his best friend, Sirius glowed - his eyes shone, and his smile never stopped. I watched him during the ceremony - it was an impossibility for me to drag my eyes away from him.

James was handsome and Lilly was beautiful. Both were gorgeously dressed in traditional Muggle wedding clothes, a black tux and a crystal beaded white gown. Their happiness was a palpable thing. They **should** have been the focus of my attention, but if Sirius, in a black tux and turquoise blue cummerbund, had not been standing or sitting next to James during the ceremony and reception, I would have no memories of the event at all.

I should have known then what was wrong with me, but I didn't.

Sirius danced with Petunia, the Maid of Honor, and Lilly's second concession to her Muggle family's demands. (Not unreasonably, when Muggle and wizard worlds collide, wizard customs take second place for secrecy's sake.) I thought the feeling of 'wrongness' I experienced as I watched them was only because of my dislike for Petunia Evans. Her sour and envious expression, her silent commentary on this unwelcome family alliance with a wizard, was enough to give anyone an 'off' feeling.

I should have realized I wished it was **me** dancing with Sirius, **me** he was holding close as he glided through the movements of the dance.

It is an incredible experience to be the object of Sirius' attentions.

Sirius is an intensely physical person, but **everything** about him is nearly larger than life. He is, for instance, extremely intelligent; not a particularly good student in spite of leading our classes, but an excellent **scholar** \- and there **is** a difference. Sirius must be forced to think 'inside the box', rather than 'outside' it. His brain is on a continuous quest for new stimulus; that is one reason, I believe, he played so many pranks at school. He is an incredible magical theoretician. The war with Voldemort and the years of Sirius' incarceration in Azkaban may have cost the wizarding world more that they can ever know.

Emotionally Sirius is the most open and honest person I have ever met. Sirius' emotions seem to be wired directly to his skin, because what he feels, he shows. Love, hate, interest, boredom, excitement - all are plainly written upon his face, expressed in his voice and actions.

It makes him fascinating, and deadly.

For years, even as a student, people have been drawn to Sirius, moths to his flame. If they were singed, however, it was not his fault; Sirius never knowingly beckoned anyone to himself, he never pursued. He didn't need to pursue, he had everything he wanted in James. Peter and I filled whatever holes were left.

Oh, Sirius had other 'friends', but they never saw the inner Sirius, not as James and Lily, Peter and I did.

Once Sirius took you in, you were his forever. You never wanted to leave.

Sirius dated, yes. Usually he would date one of Lily's many friends, usually as a double date with James, and rarely the same girl more than once. He didn't need them. For companionship, Sirius had us.

For sex he women.

Sirius began to sleep with women sometime after James and Lily got together. All of Sirius' sex partners were older, none of them were from our social circle, and all of them remained friends with him after their affair was over.

Once there was a man.

I came upon them one morning the summer after graduation. James and Sirius had taken a cottage in Hogwarts, while I was occupying the rooms I'd been given as a postgraduate apprentice. I'd taken to joining them one or two mornings a week for breakfast or coffee at the shop next to their cottage, a habit we all found pleasant. Soon enough, we knew, the real world of work and marriage would intrude, and our casual togetherness would end. This knowledge of their ending only made the meetings more poignant for us, and we rarely missed an opportunity.

I saw them as I stepped onto the shrubbery shaded walk to their front door. They stood, protected by the shrubbery from casual observation, in the cottage doorway. The shrubbery which protected them also prevented them from seeing me, and so I stood back, intending to walk forward after they were done. I'd seen Sirius kiss any number of his friends goodbye, though this was a bit steamier.

I thought it was a woman when I first saw them, but I was still a bit surprised. Sirius' 'friends' tended to be all of a type; tall, with long, dark hair, and generous curves. This woman was short and slight, with thick, brown hair barely reaching her shoulders. She had no curves I could see, though they could have been hidden by the trench coat she was wearing.

I watched them kiss, then Sirius let her go. When she turned to leave I saw 'she' was 'he'. Startled, I backed up onto the sidewalk and hurried the few steps next door to the coffee shop.

I thought the pain in my chest was surprise.

I should have known better.


	3. Chapter Three

I am, as I have said before, a werewolf. that means there are certain physiological differences between me and...true humans.These differences form the basis of our designation of 'creature'.

One of those differences is our inability to metabolize alcohol. I get inebriated **very** , **very** , quickly. My inhibitions are not just lowered, they become non-existent. As a result, I very rarely drink. Good cold spring water, cider, pumpkin juice, butterbeer - these are my beverages of choice.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the occasions upon which I have indulged in the taste of alcohol. The four of us, the Marauders, celebrated our successful O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. with clandestine Muggle beer. Graduation from Hogwarts and James and Lily's engagement merited champagne.

To that list I was about to add 'after James and Lily's wedding'.

Cognac was designed, I think, with lovers and werewolves in mind. It's smell alone ensnared my senses. Its color, its texture, the shimmer of the crystal...I was caught before ever Sirius spoke or touched me.

Sirius is tactile. Those whom he likes, he touches; those whom he loves, he enfolds. I had long reveled innocently in those benefits for love had long ago become the bedrock of our friendship, our brotherhood.

Tonight though, tonight I was newly awakened to love, had finally discovered lust and desire, that holy triumvirate we had just sealed and sanctioned between James and Lily before the hallowed witness of their combined families and friends.

Tonight, for the first time, I burned

Seated upon the sofa I looked up at Sirius from under my lashes. He stood before me, all languid, sensual grace, sipping his cognac.

I sipped my own cognac, and I fell.

I do not know what Sirius saw as he looked down at me; I only know I was not my usual self. My hair, for the first time in my life, had been professionally styled - though by now it had probably reverted to its usual shaggy state. I still wore the tailored tuxedo that was the twin to Sirius', though like him, I had discarded the jacket and cummerbund. My collar was undone for several buttons, and my tie was lose around my neck. My cuffs were undone and rolled up nearly to my elbows. My shoes and socks, discarded almost as soon as I came through the cottage door, were ...someplace. All in all, I probably looked a disheveled mess.

I am usually very comfortable like this.

I was not comfortable, now. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three sips of cognac; I would swear that was all I drank.

Three sips. So very little, but my conscious mind had fled, and my body - my aching, hungry body, rose up to take its place.

The very air seemed pregnant. My senses swam, and my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest.

It might just as well have done so, for though I had only just realized it, my heart had long been in Sirius' possession.

My mind and soul, my body, yearned to belong to him as well.

My last clear vision , before my senses fled in full surrender, was of Sirius setting his cognac down on the low table before the hearth. I remember the soft golden glow of the firelight limning the edges of his body.

He was beautiful.

How I wished I could be beautiful for him. If I were beautiful, as his women were beautiful, perhaps ... perhaps he would in time come to be in love with me.

To this day I do not remember clearly what happened next.

It seemed to me that he knelt before me on the sofa, and leaned toward me. One hand removed my cognac from my suddenly lax fingers, setting it aside on the end table.

The next sensation I registered was of his warm, strong hands cupping my jaw. His thumbs pressing in so that my mouth opened for him, and then...

... then his mouth covered mine...

...warm, soft lips, cognac flavored tongue...

...possessive, drugging kisses.

I barely managed to raise my hands to clutch his shoulders before I melted, literally, it seemed, into the sofa. My boneless, heavy, **empty** body sank into the sofa.

And Sirius followed it down.

His body was a welcome weight. How many times had we fallen in upon one another as boys? How many times had we rested against each other, invading each other's space and treating it as our own, as we grew older?

How could I have not know how empty I was before now?

His body filled my hollow places; relieved for the moment my painful aching; soothed my heart. For a while his body against mine, and our kisses, were enough to satisfy me; all to soon, however, I wanted more. But of what? I knew not, nor had I any idea of how to get it.

Sirius, it seemed, did.

His knee, which had been between my thighs, pressing against me, was removed. His clever hands, which had been alternately soothing and tormenting me, undid my belt, unbuttoned my trousers, and lowered my zipper.

And all the while he did this, his mouth, his lovely, beautiful mouth, made love to mine.

He lifted his body from where it rested against me, and I swear I whimpered, but then my trousers and briefs were gone and his hands, his hands were...

And then I knew no more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If I had been thinking logically, I would have known Sirius could not come to me after his escape on Buckbeak from Hogwarts and the Dementors. The Ministry, as I have said, re-tagged me. The tagging was as much for running wild on Hogwart's ground without benefit of the Wolfsbane potion, as it was in hopes that Sirius would **try** to come to me.

I could tell from the behavior and attitude of the MLE team during my interrogation that Fudge had picked his team well. These men did not want to believe me - or Harry or Ron or Hermione, or even Albus Dumbledore. They completely, and with very little effort, disregarded our testimony about Peter.

If they had believed me, they would have had to admit that war with Darkness was imminent. They did not want their power, their complacency, challenged. They liked their lives the way they were; they could not afford to believe us.

For six months, as I searched unsuccessfully for a job, I lived in a Ministry 'safe house' under a type of house arrest. My owls were censored, my visitors (such as they were) denied admission, my full moons spent, once again, in the public shelter without benefit of the Wolfsbane potion - though I would also have had to stay there if I'd had it.

Six months of misery and worry over Sirius and Harry, Ron and Hermione before once again Albus Dumbledore succeeded in interceding for me.

Cornelius Fudge came himself, with McNair in tow, to set me free. The executioner was present perhaps, in 'subtle' warning of what might be my future.

Even Fudge, however could not dim my pleasure in my freedom.

Once free, once back in my parent's house, in my own home, awaiting my work assignment for the Order, Sirius might come to me.

Albus was using him as a messenger for the Order. I would be receiving messages.

Perhaps he would be sent to me.

Perhaps I could persuade him to stay.

Perhaps. 

~~~~~~~

My first night back in my own home, I dreamed.

Of hungry lips devouring mine, of a warm covering body, of urgent hands.

I kissed and was kissed. I caressed, and was in turn pleasured.

I begged to be filled, and I was.

I woke to a cold and empty bed, a damp, rumpled sheet beneath me, a clammy stickiness spread across my belly.

The last thing I need was an owled message from Albus telling me he was sending Arthur Weasley, not Sirius, to me with my assignment.

I got it anyway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke the morning after James and Lily's wedding warm, snug, sated and content, but in an empty bed.

That was not how I remembered the night at all.

Surely Sirius had slept curled around me on the large sofa, both of us sweaty , sticky and smelling? Surely my lips had been chapped from his kisses, my nipples sore from his touch, my lower body...

I **was** in Sirius' bed wasn't I ? But how had I gotten there?

I was alone, clean and fresh, sweet smelling and dressed in a new t-shirt and boxers I **knew** did not belong to Sirius, they were far too small.

Something warm and happy came to life in the pit of my stomach. My nose ached in the peculiar way it does when you are trying hard not to cry, and my heart, I swear, swelled in my chest.

Sirius loved me; he had to. No one, no matter how good a friend, could have been so gentle, so careful, so intense in making love. No one else would have been so considerate.

He must have known I would not want to wake up in full view of the den's bow window, curtained or not. He must have known I would not want to wake up, alone, naked and sticky.

Why he'd had to leave me, I did not know, but it could only have been love which prompted him to move me, bespell my aches, clean me and clothe me.

Oh, yes. Sirius must indeed love me. Did he know he was loved in return? Where was he, my lover?

My lover.

I realized, in amazement, that I had a lover, a mate, and one the ministry could not keep from me.

There is no law forbidding a werewolf to mate with its own gender. An oversight? Perhaps. The laws forbidding werewolf marriages were formulated more with an eye to preventing offspring, than they were to preventing pleasure.

Fortunately.

I could feel my lover. We were bound now, irrevocably. His was a presence now I would forever feel in the back of my mind; a constant, and a requirement for my well being.

The simple act of first time sex does not mandate a mating bond, for a werewolf's bond is actually three-fold. There must first be a conscious mental and emotional choice. Only when the wolf is fully committed to his choice does the physical act seal a bond that goes deeper than soul and spirit.

James and Lily weren't the only one's who'd gotten married last night.

And I really need to tell Sirius about it.

I couldn't wait any longer, not alone, without him, in the bed, our bed. I needed to tell him, I need his arms around me, I needed the pleasure of his lips on mine.

I needed to know he was a pleased, as happy as I was.

I didn't know where he'd gone, but I knew he wasn't far... I could feel him, through the bond, close by. The longer we were together, the more information I would be able to pick up from the bond - how far away he was, what he was feeling, how he was physically.

We had, thankfully, years ahead, together, for me to learn how to fine tune the bond. What he had now was a fine start.

Throwing back the thick, warm comforter I looked around the room, hoping to see something I could wear to go in search of my lover. I spotted my wedding clothes folded neatly on the blanket chest at the end of the bed, but closer, draped invitingly across the foot of the bed on top of the covers, lay a lounging robe. Had Sirius left it there for me?

It was decadently beautiful, designed to please the eye with its forest green background and intricate gold embroidery edging the lapels and pockets. Made of heavy Chinese silk it was a sensuous garment, meant to be worn next to bare skin, in the presence of a lover.

I picked it up and held it to me. It was of a size to fit me, and of a color to suit me. And it was new. I could tell it had never been worn.

It was definitely not meant for Sirius'.

My eye caught a glimpse of black and silver draped over the easy chair in the corner. Another robe, and a near match to the one I held.

Had Sirius planned this? Had I awakened before he expected me to ? Was I ruining a surprise?

Or was this a spare, meant for any guest?

I looked around the bedroom. and realized more had changed that the simple removal of James possession would indicate.

Sirius' simple twin bed and blanket had become a mahogany four poster in the French style. The bedclothes were done in masculine shades of green, gold and brown.

The mismatched and torn pull shades at the double windows had become simple drapes in colors to match the bedding.

The blanket chest was new, as was the corner easy chair - which was upholstered to also match the bedding. Sirius' old school trunk had been replaced by a mahogany armoire, and the cramped closet James and Sirius had shared had somehow become a spacious walk-in **room**.

Surely this was a room intended to shelter lovers? And surely the lover was intended to be me? For these were colors made to order to fit **my** tastes and preferences - Sirius' tastes were either very simple or very sensuous.

What truly convinced me, however, was a print of Monet's 'Water Lily's".

For some crazy reason I have always loved that painting.

Perhaps because my maternal grandmother also loved it, and I have a vague recollection, as a very small boy, of her arms around me, of her kisses on my forehead, as I recovered from the bite.

She died before I was allowed out of bed.

That was my only recollection of love, for the longest time.

Until last night.

So, this then, was **our** room. Sirius had planned this for us.

Oh, how I loved him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reality is never long in asserting herself, and it was not long after I sent Albus a owl acknowledging his message that Arthur Weasley arrived at my door with his two oldest sons. Between the four of us- Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and myself - we set up some truly formidable defensive wards.

My home was to become a refuge for the order, and a place where I could safely work on sensitive documents far from the observant eyes of Death Eater's Slytherin offspring.

Once again, immersion in the fight against the Dark would be my salvation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of coffee, and of baked goods, wafting through the cottage broke me from my contemplation of the bedroom. My lover well knew my partiality for the coffee and croissants made in the shop nest door. We'd been meeting there for breakfast, James, Sirius and I, several times a week, for the better part of the two years since our graduation from Hogwarts.

Bless him, he must have gotten up earlier to purchase them for us.

I was in the act of putting on my new robe when I heard voices in the kitchen.

**Voices**. More than one.

I could not imagine who Sirius would have invited here for coffee the night after we... but then, how would anyone have known?

Perhaps it wasn't even all that early, perhaps they had just stopped by to discuss the wedding, and that was the reason Sirius had left our bed?

And then I realized one the voices belonged to Peter. That was all right, then. Peter was family. He should, after Sirius' father, be the first to know about our changed circumstances. Him and James and Lily.

I paused to hear what my lover would say. Surely he would wait for me before he said anything?

"So, have you told him, yet?"

(That was Peter speaking. Told **who** yet?)

"Told him what, Peter?"

(Ah, there's my Sirius.)

"About the cottage, the changes you've made. About the living arrangements, and what you have planned."

(Peter, again. So he must have helped Sirius do the make-over in here.)

"No. No, I haven't I'll have to do it soon, though; especially after..."

(After? oh! After last night. Perhaps Sirius hadn't planned for this so soon. That was all right. We'd found each other, that was all that mattered.)

"Well, tell him soon, Luv. You know how he is; how much you mean to him, and you know you don't want Remus to be hurt."

I swear my body froze. Whose voice was that? Who was calling my mate 'Luv'? And why was he afraid I'd be hurt?

I crept soundlessly to the bedroom door. Across the hall there was a mirror angled enough to catch a view of the kitchen. I cautiously positioned myself so that I could see the three of them as well as hear their conversation.

"... and not just that, " the voice continued, "but you've got to give me time to get my stuff packed up and moved here. I've quite a bit, you know."

The man in the mirror put his arms around **my** Sirius, and hugged him. Kissed him.

And as Peter looked on, smiling, Sirius put his arms around the man's waist, and kissed him back.

I knew this man, I realized. Short and slight, with shoulder length hair, this was the man I'd seen that summer morning two years ago. The man I'd seen Sirius kissing good-bye.

I was dead, surely, or asleep and suffering a nightmare. None of what I'd seen or heard could be true, could it?

It couldn't be true, but it was. I retreated back to the bed, looking once more around the room.

None of this was for me.

The beautiful robe I still held in my hands, the clothes I still wore, the new furniture, the Monet print...

all of this was for **him** , not me.

None of it, for me. Ever.

How fortunate I had not put on the robe, and wandered out. How fortunate I had not had a chance to speak to Sirius, to inform him of our new status.

Sirius must have been drunk, as well, last night, and in his drunkenness he must have mistaken me for his lover.

His lover. Two years, they'd been together. Two years in which I thought **I** had been his constant companion, his friend.

Well, yes, I'd been his friend, for this was his lover.

how embarrassed Sirius must have been, to wake up and find **me** in his bed, not his beloved.

No wonder I woke up alone.

Well, he wouldn't hear about any of it from me. Ever. I would not be the cause of trouble between him and his...

We would both forget about it.

I grabbed my wedding finery from the chest and dressed quickly. It would not do to get caught.

A muttered charm and the clothes I'd borrowed were cleansed and folded, good as new. Another charm and the bed was made, fresh and neat. A third charm and all traces of my scent, my physical and psychic being were erased from the room's memory.

With no other evidence, Sirius would soon begin to doubt his own memory, and last night would effectively cease to exist.

If only I could wipe my own memory as easily. Unfortunately, love, once awakened, is not so easily smothered, no matter how much the soul may desire it, the body yearn for it.

I loved, and was in love with, Sirius Black.

I am a werewolf. Last night I took a mate.

And he would never know. 

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End file.
